THE BULLFINCH 79 



on his brilliant plumage, then a thrush flew up and, 

 perching on the spurlike leading shoot of one of 

 the spruces, began to sing, pouring forth the joy 

 of living in his liquid notes ; a blackcap flitted 

 about lower down, peeping here and there among 

 the brambles for flies and other hidden insects, 

 and a consequential robin, with the curiosity of 

 its kind, came and examined the tent. Suddenly 

 my attention was riveted by the mournful piping 

 call-note peculiar to the bullfinch. Then there 

 was a glimpse of black, white, and grey slipping 

 through the boughs, the piping call gave place 

 to twittering (the call-note was never used at the 

 nest), and I saw the hen coming back escorted by 

 her mate. Such a dainty Quakerish little person 

 she looked in her pearl-grey, white and black 

 plumage. She hopped from twig to twig, then 

 stopped and looked about her ; alterations had 

 been made, the absence of those few twigs that I 

 had cut out seemed to trouble her, and she hesitated 

 what to do. She hopped away, she hopped back, 

 and then summoned up her courage and hopped 

 on to the edge of the nest. All the time her hand- 

 some mate was standing behind her, resplendent 

 with his salmon-pink breast. He twittered to her 

 as if begging her to settle down on the eggs without 

 delay by " twittering " I mean a subdued con- 

 tented note, faintly uttered so that one could hardly 

 hear it, and quite different from the plaintive 

 piping with which they called to one another. 

 But the female bullfinch was undecided what to 

 do; she hopped away, then back on to the edge 



